


Atsumu Miya does not fold his napkins (and other reasons not to like him)

by futacookies



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Pre-Slash, Timeskip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:21:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27005746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futacookies/pseuds/futacookies
Summary: Atsumu Miya doesn’t fold his napkins. To be honest, Sakusa doubted for a long time he even used napkins, and was only convinced once he saw Atsumu throwing one in his sport bag - and even then, having a napkin to throw into your sport bag doesn’t mean you used it. It’s most likely a mere prop.Atsumu has the exact face of someone who dries his hands on his pants, Sakusa thinks while smoothing the creases of his robe, right before putting it away. If he is to be mean, Sakusa would say Atsumu has the exact face of someone who doesn’t even wash his hands after using the bathroom.Alternatively: Sakusa rambles about why he shouldn't like Atsumu until he actually falls in love.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 111





	Atsumu Miya does not fold his napkins (and other reasons not to like him)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is just a bunch of different prompts about sakuatsu that I just smashed together until I was happy with the result! This will most likely be followed by a fic from Atsumu's point of view (which I haven't written yet, though -.-"). Anyway, I hope you'll like it!

Atsumu Miya doesn’t fold his napkins. To be honest, Sakusa doubted for a long time he even used napkins, and was only convinced once he saw Atsumu throwing one in his sport bag - and even then, having a napkin to throw into your sport bag doesn’t mean you used it. It’s most likely a mere prop.

Atsumu has the exact face of someone who dries his hands on his pants, Sakusa thinks while smoothing the creases of his robe, right before putting it away. If he is to be mean, Sakusa would say Atsumu has the exact face of someone who doesn’t even wash his hands after using the bathroom.

Sakusa stares at him like he is some sort of Frankenstein’s monstrosity. The image of Atsumu not washing his hands is quite disgusting. It’s totally disgusting. Though it’s just an image in his mind, just an assumption of his ‒ still, it’s majorly plausible, because _‒ come on ‒_ just take a look at the guy: Sakusa is pretty sure the very fingers which are combing his hair after the shower were up to his nose until a few moments ago. 

That’s probably the most disgusting thought about Atsumu he’s had since joining the Jackals a few weeks ago.

******

Atsumu Miya lives for the applause. Sakusa wrinkles his nose while the whole team surrounds Atsumu to shower him in compliments. He just did a very difficult toss, which almost costed him a quadriceps. He could choose an easier position to set from, and Sakusa is sure they would score anyway. He could even just let the ball drop, it’s only a practice match and no one would die from losing a point.

But no, of course Atsumu ran to the edge of the court, arching his back to the point he almost fell, sending the ball in the perfect position for Bokuto to spike it at full force.

And now everyone’s around him, ready to praise him, telling him that was an amazing toss ‒ and, gods, Sakusa doesn’t want to, but just _has to_ agree ‒, telling him they can’t wait to see that during an official match. Atsumu reminds him of a peacock showing off his tail, yet he scrolls his shoulders and says it was easy peasy, really.

Though Atsumu gets close to him and asks: «Wasn’t that _so_ cool, Omi-kun?».

Sakusa snorts politely and grants him a _“Sure.”,_ that is definitely not the praise Atsumu was looking for. Yet he leaves with a satisfied chuckle, his ego already fueled enough by their teammates.

******

Atsumu Miya is a show off ‒ which is quite different from his pathological need for praises. He likes being watched, likes having everyone’s attention: he craves moving with the feeling of a dozen eyes lingering on him.

Every now and then, after practice, his team goes for a night out: Sakusa never joins them, of course, because gods knew how many germs haunted the pubs his colleagues hung out at. Atsumu always joins them, of course.

Sakusa knows, as he knows the sun’s going to rise tomorrow, thanks to the studied care he’s uncombing his bangs, thanks to his rolled up sleeves, thanks to the third button of his shirt which he’s deciding whether to leave open or not, that once Atsumu is done getting ready it will be impossible not to look at him ‒ because he is, _objectively_ , handsome.

Sakusa realizes, much to his dismay, he just admitted thinking Atsumu was handsome. His growl of irritation catches everyone’s attention in the locker room. Atsumu’s as well. He turns to him with a disappointed look on his face.

«What, Omi? This shirt can’t be that ugly.», he asks, immediately turning to stare at his reflection.

 _Disgusting_ , Sakusa thinks. Atsumu might be handsome ‒ it’s fine, he admitted it, no point in taking back his own thoughts ‒ but he is first, and foremost, disgusting.

«Disgusting.», he repeats out loud, more to convince himself than to actually answer Atsumu’s question. 

Then he runs out of the locker room, noticing how he had been ready to leave for a while, and just stayed behind to stare at him.

«No need to be _so_ blunt!», Atsumu shouts, but the echo of his voice is lost in the hallway Sakusa is leaving at the speed of light.

******

Atsumu Miya is a liar. That’s what Osamu told him yesterday ‒ not _him_ , confidentially, he more of announced it to the whole team while they were stuffing their mouths with his onigiris. 

He came all the way from Kōbe just to trash talk him, Osamu explained, and then he proceeded to describe every mischievous deed of Atsumu since they were toddlers.

Atsumu, blushing in shame, kept eating to avoid answering his brother. Then, with still a couple grains of rice on his lips, Atsumu got close to _him_ , of all people, and spoke: «Fear not, Omi-Omi. I never was that insufferable.»

«Ah!», Osamu exclaimed, pointing at him. Everybody turned. «You know, he’s a compulsive liar. He lies just because he likes to.»

Atsumu tried to protest but his brother shut him down with more tuna onigiris. Sakusa watched the scene with the most detached stare he could master. And yet he took note of this new information, treasuring it alongside Atsumu’s crush for his high school team’s captain, and hundreds more flaws he already has figured out.

Just to know his enemy, that’s what he tells himself with a metaphorical pat on the back. Not because Atsumu Miya is the only thing he manages to think about the second he steps out of the court. Not at all.

******

Atsumu Miya is a perfectionist who leaves no room for mistakes. Sakusa never thought of that as a flow until it turned against him.

He really can’t tell how he missed his spike. It’s just practice, luckly, so his team didn’t suffer from his distraction. Yet not only did Atsumu give him a dreadful look, the kind of look Sakusa shoots at him daily, but now he refuses to toss to him.

During this set, after the failed spike, Atsumu tossed seven times for Bokuto, five for Hinata, at least four for Meian-san, of which to from the back row, and tried setter dumps gods know how many times. And Sakusa got absolutely nothing, because he dared getting distracted and not scoring on a perfect toss of his.

Maybe if Atsumu knew he got the jumping time wrong because his eyes lingered on his thighs rather than on the ball, he’d be merciful. When Sakusa actually understands what he just thought he groans, annoyed, and asks the coach to sit the next set out.

He can’t see Atsumu’s disappointed stare trying to pierce his back and surely he can’t believe his poor apologies, whispered a few hours later in the locker room.

******

Atsumu Miya has become a problem. At first Sakusa tried to ignore it, then he hoped to convince himself his interest was nothing but scientific and finally he told himself it was just due to the magnetic attraction applied to everyone around him.

Much as a stain he isn’t able to wash away, Atsumu became the one point around which all his thoughts gravitate to ‒ and the only reason he focuses during matches is to avoid the public humiliation of being denied his tosses. And right now because maybe him too, as much as his teammates, wants to defeat the Adlers.

«Omi-Omi!», Atsumu calls, and Sakusa is already in the air: he spikes right where he knows none of their rivals can reach. They score, of course. When Atsumu tells him his wrists are gross, somehow it really sounds like a compliment. Sakusa accepts it, scrolling his shoulder ‒ he’ll have plenty of time, later, to dwell on that. 

They have a match to win now.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, if you liked it please leave a kudos!! And follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/futacookies)!


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